Dog Collar Knockoff (8 page)

T
he stress alone
of driving to Michigan with Roseanne and Joey might kill her.

“Driver,” Ro snapped, trying for the thousandth time in the last fifteen minutes to annoy Joey.

He switched to the left lane and roared by slower cars on the expressway. “I’m ignoring you.”

Needing a distraction, Lucie opened her window an inch and let the warm air blow in. They’d hit the road at eight-thirty for the two-hour drive to the gallery and managed to miss the worst of the morning traffic. Ro, of course, was dressed the part in a black, sleeveless sheath, her favorite pair of Gucci sandals and sunglasses that probably cost more than Lucie’s laptop. Even if she hadn’t gotten a chance to melt her husband’s credit card, she’d managed just fine pulling something out of her expansive closet.

Joey glanced at Lucie by way of the rear-view mirror. “I don’t see what the rush was on this trip. We just talked about it last night and now we’re hauling ass out there.”

“Blame it on Ro freaking me out over that ten-year prison sentence. I’m nobody’s bitch. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Huh? And since when do you swear?”

“Forget it. Besides, Lauren was available all day to cover the dogs. Just pray she can handle it.”

“Luce, it’s dog walking, not biometric engineering.”

That got Ro’s attention and she whipped off her sunglasses. “Do you even know what biometric engineering is?”

“Sure. It’s the combination of engineering and biological sciences.”

Ro turned to Lucie. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Basically, you nutty broads, it’s measuring and analyzing human characteristics. Fingerprints, DNA, voice patterns.”

“Oh my God,” Lucie said. It was like an endless cycle of insanity in this car.

“Hey,” Joey said, “she asked. And speaking of the dogs, Boots’s ear finally went down. His owner took him to the vet. They’re stumped. Go figure.”

“Well,” Lucie said, “at least the poor baby is okay. How much longer until we get to the gallery?”

He hit a button on the GPS screen. “It says thirty minutes.”

Lucie checked the time on her phone. They’d arrive at the gallery at eleven o’clock. Figure an hour tops of being there, a quick bite to eat, and they’d be back on the road by one-thirty. Home by four. They
had
to stick to a schedule. Even if she wasn’t working today, she didn’t want to be late for her dinner with Detective O’Brien. Tim.

Wait.
Panic shooting straight up into her eyeballs, she drew a sharp breath and turned to Ro.

“What?”

She couldn’t say it. Not in front of Joey. He’d have a world-class meltdown about her going on a date with a cop. Via the rear view mirror Joey glanced at her again and their eyes met.

“Nothing,” she said, swiping the screen on her phone to text Ro. “I forgot an email I had to send.”

A minute later Ro’s phone whistled and she dug it out of the seat pocket. She saw the name on the screen and frowned. “You’re—”

Lucie cleared her throat and smacked the side of Ro’s leg to shut her up. Finally getting the hint, she read the text. The one telling her Lucie didn’t have anything to wear for her date with O’Brien.

This got her an irritated sigh. “My work is never done.”

Before Ro could fire back a text, Lucie turned the volume and vibrate on her phone off. If her phone even buzzed, Joey Big Ears would be on to them. A second later the text popped up. All caps.

UNBELIEVABLE!!!! IT’S FINE. YOU CAN WEAR SOMETHING OF MINE. I’LL FIND A SHORT DRESS. CROTCH LENGTH ON ME. KNEE LENGTH ON YOU. LOL.

Lucie snorted. This was friendship.
THANK YOU
.

Giving up on the rear-view mirror, Joey swung his head and glanced back at them. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,
driver,”
Ro said. “Pay attention to the road. Precious cargo here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Joey pulled into the gallery parking lot and parked just across from the entrance. The three-story brick building with scrollwork on the corners was probably reminiscent of some early style, but Lucie was hardly an architectural expert and couldn’t fathom a guess as to the age of the building. It looked old, but that didn’t always mean anything. The subdued, etched sign near the door read Montrose Gallery.

Right place.

Joey pushed open his door. “Okay, ladies. Let’s get this done and get home.”

Amen to that.

The three of them sauntered in the front door looking like some whacked-out version of a CIA team. Ro in her designer duds, Joey looking like the well-dressed muscle and Lucie the dour assistant.

A wiry-framed older man in an expertly tailored gray suit came through a doorway at the rear of the gallery and waved. “Welcome.”

“Hello,” Ro purred.

Joey nodded at the man then moved off to the side to let them do their thing while he leaned against the wall and scanned the framed pieces surrounding them. The large, open area contained three support columns leading Lucie to believe a few walls had been knocked out. The low-slung ceiling and subdued lighting gave the room a cozy, but unconfined feel. Whoever had designed the place had managed to display the artwork without any harsh light.

Then there was the art. At least thirty paintings—all in one long row—lined the walls. Beside each painting was a small plaque that Lucie assumed held information about the work.

“I’m Carlton,” the man said. “The owner. How can I help you?”

Ro wandered to the far wall and stood in front of a pastel painting of a woman and young child. “I’d like to look around. I’ve been told you are the exclusive gallery for Arturo Gomez.”

Prayerful hands and all, Carlton gave a little bow, then straightened up. “Ah, yes. Excellent taste. Are you interested in purchasing one?”

“Yes.” Ro gestured to Lucie. “Delilah—”

Delilah?

“What’s the name of that painting? The one we want?”

Uh
. What was Ro doing? Lucie had seen the names of some of the paintings while doing research, but she hadn’t memorized any of them. Time to punt and give the one title she did know. The one Mr. Lutz owned.
“My Darkest Night.”

“Oh. Lovely piece that one. Unfortunately, I don’t have it.”

Dang it. If he’d had it, they’d have proved in record time that Mr. Lutz’s painting was a fake. Which couldn’t be considered good news because Lucie would then have to tell her former boss, her current best client, a man who had mentored her and even tried to help her find other banking jobs, that she’d connected him with a dealer who’d sold him a fugazzi.

Her stomach rolled and she turned back to Joey, who met her gaze then drew his eyebrows together. He would never be Mr. Sensitivity but clearly knew when his sister was in distress. She perked up, plastered on a smile and faced Carlton again. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Maybe I can show you something similar?”

Ro wandered to the next painting on the wall, tilted her head this way and that, playing the role of a wannabe buyer. If she knew anything about art, it would be a surprise to Lucie, but she looked good. And in Ro’s world, that’s all that mattered.

Total method acting.

“Well,” she said, “I had my heart set on that one.”

Being the able-bodied assistant, Lucie cleared her throat. “Carlton, do you know who owns the painting? Perhaps we could contact them?”

Ro spun back, curved her lips into the I-am-beautiful-and-you-will-do-what-I-say smile. “And then I can make the owner of
My Darkest Night
an offer. Delilah, you are a genius.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” She nodded at Carlton. “Of course, we would
very much
appreciate any help you can give on that front.”

Hey, Keegan had said side deals happened all the time. Still, this method acting wasn’t so easy, but hopefully Carlton got the message that the disgustingly wealthy Ro would compensate him for helping make this deal happen.

None of which would actually happen, but well, this was the life of undercover work.

“Let me check my list,” he said.

“Your list?”

“Yes. The family has a private collection of Arturo’s work. Whatever they don’t have, I’m able to sell. They’ve been known to occasionally sell paintings. For charity auctions and whatnot, but they are diligent about notifying me when that happens. It helps us keep the master list of all works updated so all paintings are accounted for.”

“How smart.”

Carlton walked to the desk near the back wall and Ro turned her back to him. She winked at Lucie and blew a kiss. Lucie feigned a gag.
Hairball
. Her lunatic friend was having way too much fun on this adventure.

Thank goodness, at least, big-mouth Joey was staying quiet. If he got on a tear, no telling what might happen. Lucie gestured to the entrance. “You could run outside and get some air if you wanted.”

He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’m good right here.”

Of course he was.

“Well,” Carlton said, coming back toward Lucie and Ro. “I have good news and bad news.”

Ro cocked one hip. “Carlton, you’re not going to break my heart, are you?”

He smiled at her flirty tone and Lucie’s hairball grew.

“I certainly hope not,” he said. “I checked my inventory and I don’t see that particular painting on the list.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily. The family might still have the painting in one of their homes. In which case, you might be in luck and they’d sell it.”

Lucie didn’t like the dubious tone. “What are the chances of that? You said they usually only let the pieces from the private collection go when a charity is involved.”

Carlton leaned closer. That was a little crazy pants considering they were the only ones in the room, but hey, maybe the place had recording devices or something. Ooh. Bad thought since they were undercover.

Now
who was crazy pants?

Get a grip, Lucie.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” Carlton said, “but Arturo’s youngest sister has, shall we say, financial issues.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. Twice the family has bailed her out. Rumor has it she’s a gambler.”

Finding this fascinating, Lucie slid her gaze to Joey, who was hopefully listening to the tale of woe. He shook his head and topped it off with a massive eye roll. Whenever they got into a discussion about gambling and his illegal bookie business, he assured her his money was safe and grew steadily each year. Unlike the poor slobs who lost their butts in the stock market every day.

The sick part of it was that she had no argument. Zero. Considering she was an out-of-work investment banker.

Ro inched closer to Carlton, giving him a nice view of her cleavage. “A gambler, you say? Meaning if we contacted her and made a hefty offer, she might consider selling us the painting?”

“Uh.” Carlton’s gaze zoomed to Ro’s chest as if an alien had popped out. “Perhaps.”

This guy needed to be rescued. Oxygen anyone? Lucie cleared her throat. “How do we contact them?”

Dragging his gaze from the alien boobs, Carlton faced Lucie and handed her a sticky note. “This is the number of their estate attorney. He’s usually the contact regarding private transactions.”

“Wonderful,” Ro said, finally stepping back. “You’ve been most helpful, Carlton. I look forward to doing business with you in the future.”

The three of them high-tailed it out of the gallery. Joey held the rear passenger door open for Ro while Lucie hustled to the other side. She needed a break from all this undercover stress. She didn’t like lying, even for the saving-her-own-butt cause. Lying was still lying.

With assistance from the side rail, she vaulted herself into Ro’s Escalade. These monsters weren’t built for diminutive people.

Next to her, Ro buckled in and fanned herself. “So, that was awesome. My God, what a rush. Seriously, Luce, I might be an undercover detective in my next career.”

That would be a vision to behold. “Great. Let’s see if we can focus on today though.”

“You’re right. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”

Joey hopped into the driver’s seat and fired the engine. “Hey, Ro. You almost gave that schmuck a heart attack. You gotta go easy working your assets. Some men can’t take it.”

“Please,” she said. “A little flirting never hurt.”

“It does if the guy drops dead.”

Ro jerked her thumb in Joey’s direction. “Again with the Mr. Charming act.”

Joey pulled out of the lot. “Where to?”

“Home,” Lucie said.

“Home? What home?” This from the future detective with alien boobs. “We have to call the estate attorney. You said the artist lived around here. Maybe the family is local. We could go there today.” She held out her hand. “Give me that phone number.”

Still holding the number, Lucie held it out of Ro’s reach. “No. We’re not going there. At least not today.”

All of this was coming at her too fast and she needed to slow it down. Slow, slow, slow. Ro was the impulsive one, always rushing forward. Not Lucie. Lucie needed to plan and prioritize. Run scenarios. Ones that didn’t include going to jail for fraud.

And being someone’s bitch.

No. What she needed was to go home and think on this. Carlton had told them the family made private sales. Perhaps Mr. Lutz’s painting was one such sale. Lauren would have no way of knowing about these private sales, so going on her limited knowledge, Lucie could see why she might wonder if the painting was a forgery.

Which meant, Lucie could be overreacting to the whole Mr. Lutz-got-scammed theory. She could be wrong. Even if her instincts, that little niggling on the back of her neck, told her she wasn’t, she could be. Accusing an innocent man—a client no less—of criminal activity wasn’t exactly the way to build a solid reputation.

“Luce!” Ro hollered.

“Ro!” Lucie hollered back, making Joey laugh. “I’m not calling that attorney today. As it is, my nerves are shot. Mr. Lutz could have bought his painting direct from the family with Bart Owens brokering the deal. I could totally see that. That’s what we need to confirm before contacting this lawyer. Once we contact the lawyer, we’re committed.”